


The Magnolia Tree

by Xander_The_Undead



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Cowboy AU, Empath Will Graham, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal is smart but Will is too, Heavy Drinking, Hurt, M/M, Slow Burn, Will Graham is So Done, Will Has Mommy Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26194582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xander_The_Undead/pseuds/Xander_The_Undead
Summary: When Jack Crawford came to his door asking for help on the grizzly murders deep in the heart of Louisiana, Will begrudgingly agreed. He has a gift, you see, a gift that lets him see into the minds of the monsters that prowl the French Quarter.  It is only when he accepts that he meets Doctor Hannibal Lecter, the strange mind doctor who bought the old plantation deep in the swamps where horrible things are said to happen. With the handsome European doctor at his side, Will goes about searching through to darkness to solve the murders but soon realizes not all is as it seems.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> A huge huge thank you to my lovely wife [Thefutureisbright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefutureisbright) and the amazing [Dontbevain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbevain) for betaing and historic accuracy. Love you guys very much!

[ ](https://imgur.com/3dLKV9O)

Louisiana - July, 1899

_Dreams were often viewed as oddities._

_Strange moving pictures that the mind would only open up to someone who had no way to question what they were seeing. Some liked to say that they were truly nothing, just something the mind needed to do while one slept, while others believed dreams were a telling of the past and a warning of the future._

_Will Graham refused to side with either the skeptics or the believers. Dreams could not be meaningless if one's own mind wanted to express it, but to think that his dreams of white magnolias, their scent heavy in the thick choking humidity, were a sign of what he would become. Her hands were always in his mind, tanned from the sun, calluses from split blisters and holding her rope. How soft they were when running her fingers through his hair and how they quickly turned violent when killing a man with just one shot._

_The white magnolia tree. Growing, growing, never stopping as the bright white flowers would bloom and fall away over and over._

_An old house, far too large for anything Will had ever belonged in, filled with beautiful things and lit with fine paraffin wax candles which left no awful odor unlike the tallow ones Will had grown up with. The rooms were filled with people roaming about, all in fine and fancy dressing. Women with their pearls and jewels, and men with their canes and rings; all laughing and drinking fine champagne._

_Will would wander the halls, still smelling the blossoms of the magnolia trees as he moved around like a ghost. No one noticed him, no one would even look at him._

_All except one._

_He could never see that tall man’s face, only that he dressed even more lavishly than all the others, and that his eyes were a strange shade of brown._

_No. Not brown._

_Amber_.

“Graham!” 

Will shot up from his cot at the loud banging sound. The undershirt he had gone to sleep in was soaked through with sweat and he reached up with a grimace to wipe at the back of his wet neck. He squinted at the sharp light of the sun which the flimsy curtains in his room were no match for and he wondered how long he had been asleep for.

The banging continued, officer Crawford’s voice boomed even in the hallway of the Inn and Will groaned as he rolled out of bed and over to the door. He twisted the old brass knob and jerked the wooden door open only to have it stick, having swollen because of the heat, as he glared at the man in front of him.

Officer John Crawford was a man who commanded authority and a person would regret it if they refused to cooperate. His skin was a dark color, darker since going all the way to Illinois to pluck Will from his school house. He kept his hair shorn very short, most likely because it was easier to manage with a nice bowler hat on top and dressed well.

Better than Will had ever tried.

Mr. Crawford was truly a marvel in this day and age. Honestly, he might have tried to be friends with the man if he hadn’t been so pushy about bringing Will back to his home state, to where everything he had tried to bury long ago waited to pull him down into their musty crypts once he set foot on its blood soaked soil.

“You’re awfully loud for so early in the morning. You know that?” He kept his voice level, keeping that northern accent instead of letting his tongue slow. He wouldn’t let his roots bring him down that quickly. “What do you want?”

“We had a meeting at eight o’clock.” Crawford frowned something fierce and Will had to stop himself from taking a step back. “You’re late.”

“It’s still early.” Will grunted.

“It’s ten o’clock, Graham.”

“That- no.” Will grumbled as he moved away from the door to start digging through the pile of clothes he had worn yesterday, slipping his hand inside his trouser’s pocket to pull out his old dented pocket watch. He flipped it open to see that what Crawford said was true, it was now ten fifteen and Will was indeed extremely late. “ _Merde_!”

Will scrambled up as Crawford made his way inside looking around with interest at the small room he had rented out in the inn for the foreseeable future. Will rushed over to the sad broken wash stand in the room, pouring water quickly into the metal basin and splashed his face generously. He looked at himself in the small mirror, the cracks making his reflection look even more hideous than normal, and pushed away with a grunt.

He rubbed his hands over his face roughly, feeling the weeks worth of scruff on his face, but having no time to shave he went about putting yesterday’s trousers on. He dug through the drawers the inn had provided and pulled out one of his least grubby looking shirts, a red plaid shirt that was worn and light enough that he wouldn’t be dying from the muggy heat outside. He threw it on over his still damp undershirt before slipping his gun and holster around his waist. He slipped his hole-ridden socked feet into his leather boots and then turned to Crawford with a sigh.

“I’m ready.” He grumbled and frowned when Crawford gave him a look, eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You might want to at least tuck your shirt in.” Crawford continued to look him over, eyes lingering on the way Will’s trousers sagged slightly with a purse of his lips. “And you’re missing your belt.”

It took a little bit more time, but when they left Will looked a little more presentable than the town drunk and he was grateful to Crawford for allowing him to gulp down a cup of burnt coffee before they set out. When Crawford said they would not need their horses, the headquarters being close enough to walk, Will quickly moved over to his girl who was tied up in front of the Inn.

“Morning, _Chouchou_.” He whispered to his girl, her silky deep brownish-red coat gleaming in the sun as he ran his hands along her long neck. “You want a treat?”

Strike gave a soft snort, already trying to nuzzle at him for the sugar cubes she knew he had. Will clucked affectionately with his tongue and dug into his pocket to pull out two sugar cubes. He was at least glad he had been able to bring his horse, his French Trotter whom he’d had for years, after having to leave his dogs behind in Illinois. He grinned as she ate them from his hand gently, always making sure never to bite him with her strong teeth. He gave her another pat and asked the boy in front of the inn to feed her before he came back, reaching into his leather satchel to pull out a dime for the boy to make sure it was actually done.

The boy took it happily with a quick “Yes,sir!” and started to fill up a feed sack for Strike.

Feeling better now that he knew his girl was taken care of, he turned back to Crawford and nodded his head. “Lead the way.”

Will was surprised that they made their way towards the French Quarter rather than the Warehouse district where most businesses claimed their land. He had assumed this new sprawling government would want a place in the more fashionable part of town. The tall buildings, with their distinct balconies lined with iron work. For a native Louisianan, Will had only been to the city a few times in his youth, remembering the times with his father and then when he decided to join the force. The smell was the same though, that mix of sweat covered bodies, shit (both animal and human), food being made from the apartments up high and cafes down below.

The patrol of this part had always been the hardest and most ridiculous when he had been on the force. At night it truly became a place of madness and now with the Storyville pocket regulating prostitution, he could only imagine what went on here now.

“I have to say I’m surprised.” He mumbled, barely looking around and mostly trying to just keep his gaze down and focused on his feet.

“About?” Crawford asked, hands in his dark blue trouser pockets as he walked.

“The French Quarter?” Will asked, turning his eyes up to meet with Crawford’s for the quickest second before moving back down to his feet. “Thought this new special government the country wanted would have been somewhere more…”

“Non-immigrant?”

“Not the word I was going to use.” Will huffed, but he couldn’t argue the truth. French Quarter had become less Louisiana-born and more people coming from overseas looking for new life. “But yeah.”

“This was the only building we could find that met our needs,” Crawford answered and then let a sly smile make its way onto his lips. “Not that I’m complaining. I met my wife Bella here.”

“Italian?”

That made Crawford laugh, this look on his face unlike Will had seen on the man. Wistful and besotted, it made him look years younger, a boy just fresh in love. “One would think with that name, no? Her real name is actually Phyllis, papa came from Ireland and mama was Cuban, but she is truly so beautiful all the Italian men in the Quarter would yell out _Bella!_ It stuck after that.”

Will had learned a lot about the man on their long ride down from up north, but seeing him talk so freely about the woman he loved made Will soften just the slightest towards the man. Love changed people, mostly for the better but sometimes for the worst.

When they came up to a large old crumbling brick building, ivy winding its dark green vines around it so tightly that it covered most of the front to the point where Will could barely see the faded red brick underneath. Will followed Crawford up the steps, taking a moment to glance around the building as they moved down a long wooden hallway that creaked ominously under their weight. When they came to a door which had fogged glass with Crawford’s name on it in fine black block letters, Crawford stopped Will with a hand up on Will’s chest.

“I’m going to need you to apologize to those who waited for you.” At Will’s unhappy frown Crawford became more stern. “Don’t give me that face, you are the one who is late and Doctor Lecter does not take rudeness well.”

“Doctor Lecter?”

“You’ll apologize?”

Will rolled his eyes and sighed, nodding as an answer and already hating whoever these people were on the other side of the door. Especially whoever Doctor Lecter was.

When Crawford turned the knob and pushed the door open, Will had expected to come face to face with some old men, whose stern expressions would cause Will to immediately want to be a complete ass in front of them. What he hadn’t expected was to see a pair of vivid blue eyes belonging to a truly angelic face, dark hair pulled up into an elegant twist that showed the elegant slope of pale neck.

He must have been staring because her soft pink lips quirked up in a smile and Will jumped when Crawford gave him a rough pat on the back.

“Close your mouth, boy.” He chuckled under his breath, just low enough for Will only to hear him. “Will Graham, let me introduce you to Doctor Alana Bloom.”

Will blinked. “Doctor.”

Crawford shot him an irritated glance, but Ms. Bloom only laughed.

“Only in the medical field, Jack. I’m still in training for my preferred practice.” She gave her hand a soft wave in the air, turning more to face him as her cotton dress moved across the floor silently. “But are we going to have an issue with me being of the fairer sex, Mr. Graham?”

“No, no.” Will shook his head quickly, seeing how his surprise could have been seen as dislike or unease as many men in this country had towards women who aspired for equality to be on par with them. Embarrassment warmed his face and he quickly clenched his hands when he felt them start to sweat. “I was just surprised.”

“That a woman could be smart enough to be a doctor?”

His eyes widened and he was almost ready to apologize when he saw the mischief there in Doctor Bloom’s eyes, her lips pursed tightly, not in anger but trying to hold off a laugh. His shoulders sagged slightly and even though she was very pretty, Will knew that Doctor Alana Bloom was far more than he could handle. “You're having me on.”

Her smile was wide and stunning. “I am. I apologize.”

Will felt himself give her a tentative smile, nothing at all like what she was giving him but he was trying. Then her first words caught up with him and he gave a small tilt of his head in question. “Wait. If you’re already a doctor in the medical field what else are you trying to learn?”

“Psychiatry.”

Will’s eyes snapped over to the dark corner of the room near the window where the deep, heavily accented voice had come from. Will felt his heart stop for a moment, the shock of something, _someone,_ being in the room with them and he hadn’t noticed. Will was rarely caught off guard and he felt his shoulders tense as he quickly started pulling his walls back up. Doctor Bloom’s charm had distracted him and this man in the corner was able to be so silent that he had gone completely unseen.

When the man, Will was sure it was a man from the voice and the height, moved into the windows light for the first time, Will’s mind and heart had no idea what they were doing. The man looked like nothing Will had ever seen before, sharp cheekbones, pale but pronounced browbones, a fine straight nose that sat over Cupid bow lips. Clean shaven with silver hair that was combed back neatly in a manner Will had the strangest urge to mess it up.

He wasn’t conventionally handsome.

He had an otherworldly look to him, like the fae creatures his dad would tell him about at night when he wasn’t too tired.

Beautiful, but dangerous.

It set Will on edge and he watched the man move gracefully over to stand next to Doctor Bloom. Almost floating, his shined leather shoes made no sound against the old wood floor when everyone else had them creaking loudly. He was dressed finely, his suit was modern and cut in a way to show off his height and long legs. When he caught the light shining from the window right, Will could see the man’s suit was actually a very deep purple and not black.

His gaze was set on Will, sharp dark hooded eyes assessing and Will felt as if the man was looking into his soul. He tried to shake off the unease he felt, knowing better than anyone to not judge a book by its cover and when the man extended his hand Will pushed himself to grasp it. He had to stop looking at the man’s face as his smooth long fingers wrapped around Will’s calloused one and gave the lightest squeeze.

“Doctor Hannibal Lecter. I must say I am truly pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” The man said, accent wrapping around the words, making them sound soft and exotic. “Doctor Bloom is under my tutelage for the practice. And you must be Mr. William Graham. We had heard a great deal about your talents from Mr. Crawford. I must say I am truly fascinated and would love to see you at work.”

Will wasn’t sure how to respond to that. His ‘talents’ had always made him an oddity, made the other men on the force look at him with jealousy, uncertainty and sometimes even fear. Whispers of him using voodoo and visiting the voodoo Queen Marie Laveau ran rampant through the ranks. It was something he hadn’t bothered denying because it was easier they thought that than his mind being unlike others. It was then he realized what the man had said. Psychiatry. The doctors who liked to dig in peoples minds and claim they knew what was best for them. Even if it meant opening their patients up and taking out organs for ‘treatment’. Will grit his teeth, forcing himself to look up at Doctor Lecter, eyes blazing and angry before he glanced off to the side and looked down again.

“Thank you, Doctor, and I’m so sure you would,” He pushed out through clenched teeth. “But I’m afraid you will find yourself disappointed. It isn’t really a talent, only good detective work.”

He heard Crawford clear his throat and Will gave a loud snort, eyes still downcast. “Oh, and I apologize for being late.”

He didn’t bring up that he had overslept, it would make him seem even more unprofessional than he already was and he didn't want to give the Doctor's an opportunity to try to fit him together like some puzzle. When Doctor Lecter pulled his hand away from Will’s, he felt goosebumps erupt all along his arms and he quickly pulled his arm back to his side.

“It is quite alright, Mr. Graham, thank you for the apology but do not sell yourself short or be modest.” Doctor Lecter’s thin mouth gave the slightest smile. “There is a reason the American government knows your name well.”

Will was pretty sure his talents were only half the reason the government knew who he was, but he didn’t comment on that and just cleared his throat. “Should we get to work or is this just an introduction?”

Even though his words were gruff, the doctors just smiled and Crawford huffed a laugh.

Nine victims.

All left in elaborate displays. Almost artistic.

Specific organs or body parts taken from their bodies.

Except one. 

A young woman whom Crawford had recruited when the force refused her.

Will pushed his spectacles up into his thick curls with a sigh and rubbed at his eyes, the dim light from the lantern in his room causing his eyes to strain as he read through the medical reports and Crawford’s notes on the victims. Words on paper were all he had, which never worked as well as actually seeing the crime scene with the victims laid out how the killer left them.

The removal of organs made him uneasy, remembering back to the days he spent in Minnesota. Young women going missing and never found until Miss. Nichols was found dead in her bed. Her body had been opened and though every organ was accounted for it had been clear that they had originally been removed and placed back inside neatly. They had started calling the killer the Minnesota Shrike, like the Loggerhead Shrike who would grab its prey by the neck and shake, the killer strangled their victims. Come to find out the Minnesota Shrike has been a rancher and hunter north in the state, who had chosen his victims based on his daughter, killing them so he wouldn’t have to kill her.

He had also been eating them.

Will’s stomach rolled, the stale bread and coffee he had eaten for dinner threatened to come back, but he was able to push down the sick feeling like he always did. Using his talent on Garret Jacob Hobbs’ work had done a number on him, feeling his wants and needs. 

His motives.

Which was probably why, when he came face to face with the Minnesota Shrike, saw his wife lying on the floor dead, his knife up against his daughter’s throat and started to slice, Will had lost it. Ten whole rounds into the man’s chest as she had dropped to the floor, blood pouring over the wooden floor boards like the dark wave of the sea. They had saved her, but just barely. It took months for her to finally recover most of what she had been physically and emotionally. 

It reminded Will that he needed to write Abigail soon so that she would know where to send her letters. The thought of Abigail brought some light to his disturbing night, her bright blue eyes crinkling with her smile as they fished in the river near his home in Illinois. Many had thought it weird that he had taken her in as his own while the Hobb’s ranch and properties were settled by lawyers. She had needed someone there and the man who had killed her father was a strange choice, but she had taken to him immediately.

Two lonely souls clinging to one another.

It was with those thoughts of his self-adoptive daughter that Will decided he would turn in for the night, knowing he would not get anymore work done while he was running on nothing but frustration. He stood up to remove his trousers and over shirt, tossing them into the corner for tomorrow and extinguished the flame in his lantern before sliding onto his cot in just his undershirt and drawers. 

The hot damp air of the night already had him sweating so he kicked off the covers with a groan. He definitely did not miss this place, the heat, the smell, the people and the memories were all things he could go without for his entire life and not be bothered in the slightest. He let his mind wander to that afternoon, to the two doctors he had met and had made quite the impression.

Like the sun and the moon.

Doctor Alana Bloom. Bright, happy but willing to use her anger to burn those who deserved it. How passionate she had been when talking about the victims, how she truly seemed to care about the people who were no longer in those shells. Like the sun, she was beautiful to Will, but also made it hard to stare at her for long for risk of being blinded.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Calm, controlled and tinged with a mysterious dangerous aura. To Doctor Bloom’s fire of emotion, Doctor Lecter had remained even-tempered, never once growing upset or frustrated, even when Will had been sarcastic with him. He was bewitching, which was a word Will never thought to use for a man, with his smooth accent and eyes that watched every move Will made. The moon brighter when in the presence of the sun, but in an eclipse, even the sun could be overshadowed by the moon.

They were quite the pair. 

Sun and Moon.

Student and Teacher.

He put the thoughts of the strange doctors out of his head with a sigh. He shifted to lay on his side, the moonlight came in through the thin curtains, casting pale blue and black shadows over the small work table in his room. The stack of notes sat, rumpled from his need to read over every bit of information over and over again. Whoever this killer was, Will needed to catch him quick so he could get back to Abigail.

He’d get back to work in the morning, but for now sleep was most pressing. He was surprised at how easily his eyes slipped closed and his mind went dark.

  
  


_Magnolias._

_He always can smell them._

_Fall._

_Winter._

_Spring_

_Summer._

_Didn’t matter that magnolias normally only bloomed in the spring and early summer, didn’t matter what season it was._

_The scent of the tree's blossoms was always in his nose and he sneezed loudly, his head feeling light as he laid on the thin hay stuffed mattress in the corner of the room. The room he grew up in, where the floorboards were rotted and old pans littered the small room to catch rain from the leaking roof, was filled with the flowery perfume. He would cough, his whole body shaking with it and when he pulled his hand away from his mouth he could see it was small._

_So tiny. So skinny._

_His whole body was small, the same small body he’d been in years ago, wracked with shivers from the cold nights in winter. He was sick, he knew this memory well enough, and his cough was only becoming worse. He felt the hay shift and crunch when she sat down next to him, her fingers in his hair and hand resting on his forehead and cheek._

_Her hands._

_Rough from work and tanned from long hours in the sun, but her touch always brought him comfort. He could hear her shushing him gently, moving to rub his back as he curled around her to seek out her body heart through her thin scratchy nightgown. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew his stomach was folding in on itself out of awful hunger._

_“Starving, Bill!” He remembers her voice echoing. “We are starving. Our boy is starving!”_

_She was whispering things to him, things he used to find comforting and that helped the small child he was through the pain and misery. He would look up at her, see her blue eyes set with deep dark circles underneath and her dark greasy curls tied into a tight braid over her shoulder._

_He remembered her, even when he tried his hardest to forget._

_She laid down next to him and continued to shush him, holding him tight. He started to relax, knowing she was there when he started to feel something wet along his back. He turned over to face her and let out a cry when he saw that the wet feeling had been blood, the entire front of her nightgown soaked in it. He was on his knees in a second, panic racing through his veins as he started to pull her close, his body suddenly his own size. He cradled her to him, sobs wracking his body as tears streamed down his cheeks, pressing kisses to her face as he could see the light start to fade from her eyes._

_Loving smile still on her face._

_“Don’t go!” He begged._

_Don’t go..._

_Don’t go._

_Don’t go, Mama!_

Will’s eyes flew open, air seeming to escape his heaving lungs as he struggled to breath. He felt wet and for a terrifying moment he thought it was her blood, that he was soaked in her blood still but he quickly realized he had sweated through his shirt again. He gulped, trying to calm himself when he heard the softest tap on the door of his room. His eyes slid towards the door and he eyed it with uncertainty. What if he was still dreaming? What horrific thing would be on the other side that his mind had created?

When there was another soft knock,Will frowned, tensing at the thought of having to fight off his nightmares, and a soft calm accented voice sounded from the other side. “Mr.Graham?”

Will’s mind raced to recognize that voice, going back to the other day when he had met Doctor Bloom and Doctor Lecter.

_Doctor Lecter._

Will pulled in a shaky breath, still not convinced this wasn’t still a dream and moved to sit up, staring at the door before walking over to it. He let himself take in a steadying breath before pulling the door open roughly and having to squint at the bright light of the sun before he could see the shadowy silhouette of the tall man. When Will’s eyes adjusted, he could see the man wore a soft smile while he carried a dark leather satchel that was filled to the brim with something. “Good morning, Mr. Graham.”

Will frowned at the Doctor’s presence, craning his neck out a little to glance down the hallway before looking back up at the man, irritated that he was taller than Will by a few inches. “Where is Crawford?”

“Indisposed unfortunately.” Doctor Lecter replied, his tone actually sounding sorry. He and Will stood there awkwardly for a moment before the Doctor cleared his throat and glanced behind him. “May I come in?”

Will frowned, disliking the idea of being alone in his room with the mind doctor, but moved away from the door as a silent signal that the man was allowed in. He watched as Doctor Lecter shut the door behind him and turned to him before lightly patting the satchel at his side. “I came to apologize because I believe I said something to offend you.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Oh, do you?”

“Yes.” The doctor replied, not seeming to be deterred by Will’s prickly demeanor. “I brought breakfast as well.”

“Thank you,” Will grumbled. “But you didn’t need to do that. I can get breakfast downstairs.”

Lecter did not seem to see that as a problem as he started sliding tin boxes out of his satchel and setting them down on the small table in Will’s room along with a long thermos. “I also brought coffee. It is my own blend.”

Will scowled, his need for the addictive liquid forcing down his distrust as he eyed Doctor Lecter setting the small table with things that honestly smelled wonderful. With the tins open, Will could see that some were filled with scrambled eggs, with colors of green and red mixed in while the others were filled with sliced sausage. Doctor Lecter picked up one of the tins of eggs and delicately placed some of the sausage on top before handing it over to Will with a fork. “Eat before it grows cold.”

Will didn’t want to listen, but he couldn’t turn down the offer when the man seemed to be trying to be nice and it smelled delicious. He took the tin and sat down on his bed, taking a tentative first bite before tucking into it with enthusiasm. “It’s delicious.”

“Thank you.” Lecter said proudly. “I made sure to bring in some Louisiana flavors when I made it. Cayenne pepper, paprika, garlic and of course some salt and black pepper.”

“You made this?” It came out skeptical, but he didn’t know why. Men could cook, many of the restaurants in New Orleans proved that, but still it was a shock that _this_ man could.

“I did.” Lecter gave the smallest smile as he took his own tin after pouring coffee into two tin cups he had brought, setting Will’s on the nightstand by the bed. “I normally do. I like knowing exactly what I am putting into my body. Do you like it?””

Will hummed as a response then gave a small nod and swallowing. “Yes, it’s delicious thank you.”

Doctor Lecter seemed pleased with that and sat in the only chair in the room to start eating himself. They quietly ate for a moment, before the doctor placed his tin down and watched Will until he placed his own tin down with a frown. “Staring is rude.”

“Ah, again I have to apologize, which is something I think I might be doing a lot of for the time we work together.” 

Will watched as the man took a sip of coffee from his cup and Will rubbed at his face, the beard that was quickly growing was rough against his hands. “Listen, I’ll be honest, I don’t trust you. I don’t like the idea of you looking at me like some bug pinned in a frame. I don’t want you analyzing my every move and word. Keep it professional. I’m a colleague, not something to study.”

If Doctor Lecter was surprised by his stern words, drawing lines in the sand immediately to keep himself a safe distance away from prying minds, he didn’t show it. “Well, I do hope to get to know you a little bit. God forbid we become friendly.”

Will shook his head. “No, thank you. No offense but I don’t find you interesting enough for that.” Moving to take a drink of his coffee, he had failed to notice the way Doctor Lecter’s eyes watched him with an almost hungry expression. 

“You will.” Lecter replied. “You will.”

Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes, drinking more of the coffee that was annoyingly the best cup of coffee he had ever tasted. They were quiet for another moment, but this one was a little more awkward due to neither of them eating anymore. He jumped a little when he heard Doctor Lecter speak again, the voice soft but still bringing Will’s attention to the man.

“May I ask you something?”

Will pursed his lips. “Depends on what you want to ask.”

The Doctor gave another of his little smiles, his thin bowed lips twisting in a way that had Will feel heat creep up his neck. “How were you able to tell that the murder of Cassandra Boyle was not committed by the Minnesota Shrike?”

“You’ve been reading up on me, Doctor?” Will asked, but honestly he didn’t care for an actual answer. Of course Doctor Lecter had. Will stared down at the dark liquid in his cup, remembering back to the scene of Miss. Boyle’s death. Her body stripped naked and mounted on a large buck’s decapitated head, lungs removed. Will sucked on his bottom lip before giving a sigh with the shake of his head.

“Everything was wrong with it. It didn’t fit. I didn’t feel-“ he stopped himself, fearful that Doctor Lecter had seen his slip up but didn’t dare look at the man. “I didn’t see anything like I had at Elise Nichols scene. It was almost as if someone had placed her there for…”

“For you?” The doctor finished softly and Will snorted and shook his head quickly, setting his cup down and going back to eating even though his appetite had soured.

“I’m tired of talking about this.” Will grunted, not wanting to think about that murder scene anymore. It was strange and weird and he disliked it to this day because even though the Minnesota Shrike had been caught, whoever killed that young girl to copy Hobbs was still out there. Doctor Lecter nodded and Will was surprised and relieved that the doctor let the topic drop.

“But, Mr.Graham,” The Doctor states softly, moving to grab his own tin of food. “I want you to know that you have no reason to hide your gift from me. I was not lying when I said I find it fascinating and not only in my profession.”

Will looked up at the man with wide blue eyes, the idea of someone knowing of his gift and not seeing it as strange or evil, but seeing it as something great warmed his belly. Will licked his lips, unsure how to respond and was thankful when the doctor broke the silence.

“Now, finish your food.”

Will could only nod and do as he was told.


	2. The White Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal cleared his throat a little and moved to stand next to the man, keeping himself higher up than the other as an unconscious effort to establish dominance, and gave Mr. Graham another look over. “I asked if you were alright. You seem to be... tired.”
> 
> Mr. Graham blinked slowly before his lips split on a sardonic grin, and a harsh bark of a laugh burst from his throat. It was so sudden and loud that Hannibal almost jumped, but he remained perfectly still as he let the man get whatever had amused him so much out. Graham’s laugh started to die down, and Hannibal watched as he lifted a hand to his face to wipe his eyes from under his spectacles.
> 
> “Sorry,” Mr.Graham replied, one last small chuckle escaping before he turned to look at Hannibal with a tired smirk. “That’s just the most polite way anyone has ever told me I look like shit.”

_Soon after, Izanami gave birth successively to the islands of Awaji, Shikoku, Oki Kyushu and Tsushima. Last, of all, she was delivered to the largest island, Honshu. The couple gave the land they had brought into being the name of Oyashimakumi, meaning the Land of Eight Great Islands. Following this, Izanami brought forth the smaller outlying islands._

_Having given birth to the land, Izanami began to give birth to the kami that would give it shape. In turn, she brought forth the kami of the sea, of the wind, of trees and mountains and other natural manifestations. In giving birth to the kami of fire, Kagutsuchi, despite her husband’s attempts to save her, was burned to death. As Izanami died, other kami were born from her body. Death and sorrow had also entered the world._

_Grief-stricken, Izanagi wept and from his tears emanated more kami. Enraged, he cut off the head of Kagutsuchi, whose birth had killed his wife. Further offspring were born from his bloody sword._  
  


_-Legend of the Creation of Japan_

__Louisiana - August 1899_ _

Hannibal sat, swaying with the movement as Marco continued at a comfortable pace, his newest hunt skinned and tied to the back of his saddle. The night air here deep in the swamps was oppressive and wet, Hannibal almost feeling as if he was choking on the smell of stagnant water, the earthy scent of moss along with the faintest smell of sulfur from the gasses in the swamp. Hannibal let out a soft hum when he saw a lone light in the distance, floating on the water amongst the trees. The image would almost be eerie if he weren’t sure it was one of the swamp dwellers out hunting for alligators. They weren’t on his property yet, but it was close. Hannibal might have to have a word with the locals in the swamp if he caught them hunting on his land.

He heard the far off bark and hiss of a great blue heron, smiling at how at home he had come to feel in these swamps and dug his heel into Marco’s side gently. “Come, boy, we are almost home.”

With his horse’s strong graceful legs leading them forward, the lights of the new Lecter manor came into view, twinkling in the dark with its outside gardens lit up as well. He hummed in satisfaction at the sight as Marco slowed, the large iron gates of the manor waiting open for its master to come home. He had Marco trot along the path of the front gardens, satisfied when everything seemed to be exactly how he had instructed the gardener to prepare things. He pulled his horse to a stop right outside the front entrance, dismounting when Mr. Tier came out to meet him and started pulling off his riding gloves.

“A fine hunt tonight, sir?”

“Mmm, indeed,” Hannibal replied. “Take Marco for a wash and brush; he deserves it after tonight.”

“Of course, sir,” Tier replied, then motioned to the mess of covered hunt and dried blood attached to his horse. “And what shall I do with this?”

“Bring it into my kitchen,” Hannibal replied, already moving towards the marble steps of the left curving staircase that led to the large white front door. “I’ll be down shortly to take care of it.”

“Yes, sir. Your wife has already eaten. She wanted you to know that she would be in the Lilac room this evening and would be turning in early.”

Hannibal could not keep the wry smirk from his lips at that. The idea that she thought sequestering herself in another room meant anything at all to him was humorous. He let Mr. Tier know that he had heard his words with a small nod and a wave of his hand, moving up the steps and through the front door, pleased with how quiet the grand estate was. The old plantation had been in ruin when Hannibal had arrived with his small entourage six years ago, the roof almost collapsing in on itself while rats and other creatures roamed freely. Walls had been crumbling, and most of the floorboards rotted away in many rooms; there had been almost nothing left of worth. The times of the house's heydays were over when cruelty and blood were covered up so beautifully with southern charm and money, where parties full of laughter and lace went on into the night while mournful singing rose up from the small cottages off to the side of the property.

Hannibal was no fool when it came to this country's history, knowing what this house had stood for, what its walls had tried so hard to cover up and hide. In the end, the secrets and awful acts had become too much, and everything along with the house had fallen, leaving the ghosts to wander, unknowing that they had lost their home. It had come at such a reasonable price for its state. The seller, not even caring that a strange European man, along with his wife and manservant, seemed only to want to pay in notes. The man hadn’t even asked for papers, far too eager to get the rotting mess of a house off of his hands for good, quietly laughing under his breath at the stupid fools who would buy the place.

The joke was on him because there had never been a challenge that Hannibal Lecter had ever met that he didn’t destroy immediately. 

While most of the house has been rotting, the foundations were still very much intact and strong. Hannibal knew that with strong bones, anything could be fixed. It had taken them two years of backbreaking labor, along with a hired day crew that worked all of spring, summer and autumn, to finally get the house back into working order and its former beauty. The house once again was filled with lavish parties during holidays and special events that Hannibal always liked to plan himself. It was even filled with its own new delightful horrors.

Hannibal made his way to the master bedroom up on the third floor, quickly moving inside to change to something far more comfortable to do the work that waited for him down in the kitchen. He finished rolling his shirt cuffs up to bear his forearms before making his way over to the lilac room that was only three bedrooms away from the master. He knocked gently against the heavy oak door, frowning when he heard nothing in response and gave a small sigh.

“I’m coming in, my darling.”

The door was unlocked, the massive oak thing swinging open with ease, and he stepped inside to look over at the large four poster bed that was draped in heavy curtains made in the color of deep purple. When there was no movement from behind the curtain, Hannibal moved over to the ornate wooden desk near the window and sat down in the chair. He reached over to pull a match from the small box that lay on the desk. He struck it quickly against his shoe, the fire flashing to life, small but dangerous all the same and lifted the glass lantern up so he could light the corded rope inside. Warm light filled the room, and it no longer looked so sad and dark as he gave a long sigh before crossing his leg over his knee, turning to look at the curtain. Still no movement, but even through the thick curtains and smells from all around, Hannibal could smell the scent of roses and lavender, the scent of the perfume his dear wife always wore.

“I have to admit; I’m a little disappointed that you have gone to bed so early,” Hannibal spoke gently, an almost bored tone creeping into his words as he brushed nonexistent dust from his knee. “I had hoped that we could at least share a nightcap. After all, it’s what spouses sometimes do.”

“Stop it.”

The voice was quiet, tired and meek in so many ways, the way it had been now for seven years. Hannibal gave a small shift, the leather padding in the desk chair squeaking softly, and he drummed his hand lightly on his knee as he waited for her to say more. When nothing came, he glanced out at the darkened windows, the night so oppressive out here that nothing could be seen, and took a deep breath in through his nose, letting it out slowly out through his mouth. She tested his patience a lot lately, having fits of complete silence, running from rooms to avoid his presence because Hannibal knew she feared him. Other times pushing her venomous anger on him with barbs she hoped would tear at his skin so it could reach his bloodstream. They never truly did, just small grazes that he could easily clean unless she brought up the one subject she knew was the most sensitive.

“Stop what? Being a husband who wishes to spend more time with his lovely wife?”

The curtains flew open, and Hannibal turned back to look at her, her beautiful pale skin flushed with anger and her golden hair down and free as it flowed over her left shoulder. He raised an eyebrow when she sent him a cool glare, blue eyes the color of the glaciers in the Arctic as she pushed herself up from the bed, moving towards her vanity of fast stuff movements.

“I am only your wife in this awful ruse you have constructed.” She replied in a clipped manner, her smooth voice still seeming the words sound like syrup even with the irritation in them. “We agreed I have no obligation to perform any wifely duties except to be at your side and fool those around us.”

Hannibal gave a slight tilt of his head to show that she had a point. “Yes, but dearest Bedelia, would you not agree that it is best for even those playing at marriage should at least be in some sort of friendly relationship? It helps when-“

“It’s not my fault that you are miserable and lonely.”

Hannibal stopped short; the anger that spiked through him at being interrupted made him clench his teeth for just the slightest moment before he smoothed his temper out. He would not give her the satisfaction of getting angry; it was what she wanted when she lashed out like that. For a woman who feared him and what he would do, she did love trying to get a rise out of him. He cleared his throat gently, glad when she actually turned to look at him, her glare gone and only that emotionless mask she liked to wear as if he was not already in her head. 

“Since you are in a disagreeable mood, I do not see anymore point in arguing about tonight,” Golden colored eyes flashed up, gravely serious all of a sudden. “But you must know it will only make things harder while we continue our summer parties, and I want to make sure everyone here is their most charming self now that the guest of honor has arrived.”

Bedelia gave a quiet exhale, an almost sigh, before letting her eyes roll back in a clear sign of agitation. It was fascinating how such a lady of high standard and breeding had fallen so low while being with him. It truly filled him with pride.

“William Graham.” Her voice rang out mockingly, lowering and slurring in what Hannibal could only assume was supposed to be him and his accent. “Will Graham this, Will Graham that. Dear lord, Hannibal, if I did not know the inner workings of you, I would have started to question how often you speak of him.”

Hannibal did not like her poking her sarcastic barbs into his plan, but he refused to rise to the bait. “Careful, dearest. You sound almost jealous.”

“A real wife would be.” She replied, long delicates fingers tracing the pattern of the silver box which held her powder. “You should be wary of him, Hannibal.”

Hannibal pursed his lips slightly. “What makes you think I’m not?”

Bedelia continued to trace the delicate silver flower design, not looking up as she voiced her thoughts, a trick she learned to guard herself against Hannibal and others. “You finally have him where you want him, but because everything's coming together does not give you room to be sloppy.”

That made him glare at her; the suggestion that he might let everything he had worked so hard for these past years slip away because it was so close was insulting. He shifted in his chair, glad that his movement caused her to glance his way even for a second to make sure he was not going to attack.

“You won’t have to worry about that, dearest,” Hannibal replied with a soft growl. “I always keep my promises. To you and myself.”

Bedelia gave a huff, then turned to him with her lips pursed as if she were thinking about something before moving towards the door. 

Hannibal frowned. “And where are you going?”

Bedelia turned back to him, lovely blonde curls bouncing against the small of her back as she swayed slightly. “Well, I was hoping to get a drink, and if my husband still wished for time together, then I guess I can give at least that.”

“Oh?” The corner of his mouth twitched just the slightest bit up.

“Yes.” She replied evenly, revealing that well-raised high-blood manner that made the guests at their parties fall in love with her. “Now, hurry before I change my mind.”

  
  
  


  
  


Another crime.

Another scene where Hannibal had turned swine into beautiful poetic art.

He stood proudly, though only on the inside, as the police moved around the room, cataloguing everything they could possibly find. They wouldn’t find anything. Hannibal knew this. He had made sure all of his crime scenes in Louisiana left no trace of him or any evidence they could try to guess on. Hannibal needed them blind and foolish, willing to look for anyone who could remotely help them find this depraved psychopath. Which was why, when Jack Crawford came to him, asking if there was any way he could help or knew anyone who could help, Hannibal gave up Will’s name.

Jack was grateful but puzzled as to how Hannibal knew of a man if he had never met him before.

Papers and talk among social groups, Jack. Do not be so shocked that I know others besides doctors and socialites.

No one needed to know how he knew William Graham, not even the man himself.

Hannibal watched Mr. Graham as if he were viewing some sort of bloodhound trying to catch a scent so he could give chase. The way Mr. Graham would close his eyes and stand in the room of the newest crime, going completely still and quiet until his posture seemed to change. Shoulders growing loose before standing up straighter, posture suddenly so perfect and refined, so much like Hannibal’s that it made him smile. 

Oh, what a brilliant boy. He thought, straining his ears as the man started muttering to himself, and Hannibal tilted his head as both he and Jack began to listen.

“This was not where I did it,” Will whispered, his eyelids twitched with the rapid movement of his eyes beneath as he continued his fascinating method. “I brought him here for my display...but I did not kill him here.”

Will’s body jerked as if he was going to move somewhere, but all he did was turn in the direction of the door, his eyes still closed. Hannibal could not keep his eyes off the man, the way his face remained neutral like Hannibal assumed his hand been during the murder, and his heart beat a little faster when Will let the tip of his tongue slid across his upper lip. “I got him ready here, brought all my supplies to make him something beautiful...something unlike what he was in life. I’m wearing my protection, but I got some blood on my lip.”

Hannibal’s nostrils flared, heat churning in his gut at the way those pink lips quirked in a pleased smile. “I like how his blood tastes.”

Hannibal felt a strange sense of lightheadedness overcome him at seeing this fascinating man go through the motions and emotions of what Hannibal felt the night he had slaughtered that pig. There was a beauty to William Graham that Hannibal had not seen before. Of course, he had noticed the man was attractive to the extent that he almost rivaled some women, but the way his lovely pink lips pursed and smiled nearly in a mirror image made the man almost breathtaking. It was a shame that his plans for Mr. Graham did not include carnal pleasures; he would have been a work of art worthy of being amongst the master’s spread out on Hannibal’s sheets.

He watched enraptured as Will moved over towards the door and then uttered that softest ‘This is my Design’ before coming back to himself and glancing over to Jack and Hannibal with a small frown that reminded Hannibal of a wet cat. The confident posture that had been Hannibal’s was now gone, shoulders slumped and curved inward as if Will were expecting an attack every moment of the day. Will reached up to rub a hand over his face roughly, dislodging his round spectacles, when Jack made a questioning noise by clearing his throat, and Will sighed as he brought his hand back down to his side. “He’s your man, Jack.”

Hannibal schooled his features perfectly, a mix of slight shock and confusion as if he were simply a simple doctor of the mind coming along to see the real men at work. He heard Jack let out a frustrated sigh, knowing his dear friend’s sanity was starting to fray from how well Hannibal had been giving him the runaround, and he watched as Jack moved over to Will, speaking quietly. Hannibal pursed his lips, annoyed at being left out, so he took a few steps around the room, careful not to move any of the markers the police had set down next to things they thought were legitimate evidence. He heard Will softly say that the killer felt detached from his victims, not that he couldn’t feel emotion or the pain the victim might be going through, but more along the lines of thinking he was better than them.

“He’s above the likes of these swine.”

Hannibal felt a thrill shoot through his spine at hearing his thoughts spoken through someone’s mouth. Oh, Will Graham proved to be so much more entertaining than Hannibal had initially thought he would be. He leaned down as if inspecting something, stealthily slipping his hand into his coat pocket and pulling out a piece of ripped rough fabric before carefully tossing it on the floor in front of him and out of everyone else’s line of sight. He waited a moment, letting the two men talk for a few more seconds before clearing his throat to gain their attention.

Blue and brown eyes turned towards him, and he pointed at the small piece of fabric he had thrown on the floor. “This is not marked, should it not be?” 

The two faces staring at him started to change, Will’s becoming a look of annoyed confusion with his brows furrowed deeply and Jack’s forming into one of unbelieve rage.

“Can you men do nothing right?” He shouted out the door to his men and the others working on the crime scene, quickly stalking out to give whoever had missed a piece of evidence a good dressing down, and Hannibal tried to keep the smile from his face as he stood back up. He did show it, but he was surprised to find those irritated and searching blue eyes fixed on him instead of Jack outside or the new evidence.

“Yes, Mr. Graham?”

“That wasn’t there a moment ago.”

A flicker of something, an emotion of some kind that Hannibal had not felt in a very long time, made his heart race a little faster. After a quick second of studying it, he realized it was excitement, excited that someone dared to challenge his word and not immediately trust and fall to his feet because of his incredible wisdom. He kept his face neutral even though the sly grin of a snake unfolded in his head, and he tilted his head a little to the side as if in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

His confusion act only seemed to make the man more irritated, and he was delighted when Mr. Graham stalked over to him, his hands moving erratically around as words started to fall from his mouth in a harsh and hurried tone.

“That wasn’t there,” Will repeated, moving to stand next to Hannibal, then moved around until he was facing him but still refused to meet his gaze. “If it had been torn from the victim or from the killer, I would have seen-“

Will stopped short, his glare down at the room’s wood floorboards becoming so intense that Hannibal almost felt a small electric shock at how it might feel to be on the end of a beastly glare like that. Hannibal shifted the slightest bit closer, the man in him knowing it would be safer to let the moment die, but the monster inside wanted to crawl closer and reach past those lovely lips and pull Will’s suspicions from his mouth.

Let him see me and know me. Let him know what I am, and then I can slice that lovely face up into something worthy of his beauty.

No. That was not what Hannibal had planned, and if there was something more potent in him than the monster, it was his need for everything to play out to his advantage. He slipped his mask back on, carefully constructing his facial expression into one of slight guilt and apology. 

“I am sorry, Mr. Graham.” Taking a slight step back when those fire blue eyes glanced up at him. “I did not mean to mess with a crime scene or insinuate that you or the officers had missed something.”

The only evidence of the emotional war inside that magnificent mind were the expressions on Mr. Graham’s face, flickering between indignation and irritation before settling into an emotion that softened his features, and that was when Hannibal knew that he was no longer the source of Mr. Graham’s annoyance.

“Sorry.” Mr. Graham muttered, his voice so gravely and low that it almost sounded like a growl instead of an apology, but Hannibal smiled, nodding in forgiveness. He watched as the man sighed and moved to sit down heavily on a chair pushed aside once no evidence could be found on them. For the first time since meeting the man, Hannibal watched as he leaned his head back against the headrest of the chair, close his eyes and seemed to let all the tension drain from his body. The high walls he kept around him at all times seeming to crumble a little bit. Hannibal had to stop himself from growling, the spike of irritation blindsiding him at how eerily Mr. Graham’s profile resembled hers, even down to the long dark lashes that fluttered as Mr. Graham’s eyes moved beneath his eyelids. He pushed the undue emotion down, getting a better hold on himself before speaking.

“Are you alright, Mr. Graham?”

Mr. Graham gave a small questioning sound before his eyes opened, and turned his head to look at Hannibal, those stormy blue eyes soft as the waves on the shore after a hurricane. “What?”

Hannibal cleared his throat a little and moved to stand next to the man, keeping himself higher up than the other as an unconscious effort to establish dominance, and gave Mr. Graham another look over. “I asked if you were alright. You seem to be... tired.”

Mr. Graham blinked slowly before his lips split on a sardonic grin, and a harsh bark of a laugh burst from his throat. It was so sudden and loud that Hannibal almost jumped, but he remained perfectly still as he let the man get whatever had amused him so much out. Graham’s laugh started to die down, and Hannibal watched as he lifted a hand to his face to wipe his eyes from under his spectacles.

“Sorry,” Mr.Graham replied, one last small chuckle escaping before he turned to look at Hannibal with a tired smirk. “That’s just the most polite way anyone has ever told me I look like shit.”

Hannibal pulled himself up straight. “Mr. Graham, I in no way meant to imply that you-“

Mr. Graham cut him off by waving a hand in his direction. Hannibal’s annoyance at being so rudely hushed was muted when Mr. Graham seemed to look almost relieved. “I know you didn’t mean it that way, Dr. Lecter, but I also know that I’m not exactly the prettiest girl at the ball right now.”

Hannibal would beg to differ, but it was genuine that the almost purple bags under Mr. Graham’s eyes, the ghostly pallor of his face and the way his body seemed to sag spoke silently of how his body was fairing right now. Hannibal bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before shifting his weight a little and making sure his voice sounded kind, allowed the timber of his voice to drop into a purr.

“If it’s sleep or some kind of stress hindering you, I could help you with that.”

Immediately the softness of their exchange went hard as a diamond, and Mr. Graham glared up at him with all the distrust he had shown the moment he had met Hannibal in Jack’s office. Mr. Graham stood up then, obviously noticing the advantage Hannibal had by standing even though he planned to do nothing with it, a scowl coming to the younger man’s face, and he moved back a bit.

“I don’t need anyone poking around inside my head; thank you very much, Doctor.”

Hannibal raised his hands in a calming defensive way. “That is not what I meant, and I apologize if that was how it sounded. I meant more on figuring out some exercises that could help with your sleep, perhaps a few natural herbs that could soothe and help you relax.”

Graham snorted. “You going to put me on opium, Doctor? I have to tell you that one doctor tried that, and it was not good.”

“Duly noted,” Hannibal replied calmly, filing that information for later. “But I was thinking more along the lines of lavender or chamomile. A few others are far more gentle than opium and the exercises would be small things you could do before bed to help put your mind in a more relaxing mood to rest.”

Mr. Graham frowned thoughtfully, but Hannibal could see that the man was thinking about it. Mr. Graham seemed to move a bit off the offense to ask with a deep growly voice. “And no trying to get into my head?”

Hannibal shook his head. “Only if you asked me to.”

Another sharp laugh came from Mr. Graham but this one was less amused. “That won’t be happening.”

Hannibal smiled fondly at the other man. “Then we have a deal.”

  
  


Hannibal had insisted that they meet at his home. The inn where Mr. Graham was staying was far too loud, with thin walls and the sounds of people fighting or having sex being heard clearly as if they were in the same room. It was not a space conducive to have a session on how to help with sleep, and Hannibal smiled happily over at the young man sitting across from him.

Mr. Graham had come to his home, walking into Hannibal’s study and office looking as if he had just escaped being dragged around the back of a horse. He was covered in the dry yellow colored dirt found far from New Orleans, near where the city stopped and was nothing but open clear skies and the wild. It suited Mr. Graham well, but that did not mean that Hannibal appreciated having dirt strewn all about his Turkish rugs and expensive furniture. He shifted slightly as Graham made himself more comfortable, slouching a bit and spreading his knees wide. Hannibal tried not to focus on the premium black Scottish leather that the man was no doubt making a mess of with his dirty pants. 

“So,” Mr. Graham started, glancing around the room with a bored look on his face. Hannibal felt another strange satisfied jolt when Mr. Graham did not seem all that impressed with Hannibal’s home and decor. “How exactly does this work if it’s not a therapy session and you’re not evaluating me for the asylums.”

Hannibal crossed his legs, his pant leg sliding up to show a bit of his sock covered ankle. He felt a thrill run down his spine when Mr. Graham’s eyes tracked the movement, eyes lingering for a moment. This boy. This boy was going to give Hannibal what he had longed for for so many years. Hannibal’s skin prickled with the sensation of needles pressing delicately and nearly pleasurably all over his skin with the knowledge that he was close to his goal. Hannibal placed his hands in his lap, nodding to show that he understood Graham’s question, licking his bottom lip slightly before answering.

“As I said before, I will teach you a few exercises that might be able to help you with your sleep patterns.”

Mr. Graham snorted. “Might?”

Hannibal paused, searching through the words he had said and only after he found nothing wrong with them did he nod. “Yes, might. Is that an issue?”

Mr. Graham gave another one of those smiles. One that was disrespectful and condescending but still charming in its own right. “No, I’m just surprised you aren’t guaranteeing that what you say is what is best for me because all you bastards seem to think you know better than anyone.”

Oh, he was full of spit and vinegar. 

What a lovely and awful boy.

“I will admit,” Hannibal started with a soft chuckle. “Most of my colleagues in the field, especially those who work in the asylums, tend to think that because of their knowledge and training that they do know what is best for their patients.”

He held up a hand when Graham moved to speak, effectively quieting him. “However, Mr.Graham, I am not like my fellow psychiatrists, and you are not my patient, so this is more a meeting of... friends.”

A dark brow rose. “Friends? You still want to be my friend, Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal let a real smile grow on his face. “More than anything, Mr. Graham.”

Mr. Graham let out a tired sigh, glancing to the side to look out the window that looked out onto the manicured lawn, flower beds and the border of massive trees that hid the dark swamps from view. Mr. Graham seemed to stare out, lost in thought, his eyes going glassy and vacant as he continued to watch something that Hannibal could not see. Hannibal opened his mouth to softly bring Graham’s attention back to him when the man spoke before he could.

“I have nightmares.” He whispered, and Hannibal suddenly sat up a little bit straighter, interest peaked. “Sometimes I can fall asleep just fine, but then they sneak in, scare me so bad that I wake up shaking and gasping, ready to fight something... anything... that my body can’t calm itself down, and I end up staying up the rest of the night, needing to fight the shadows I can only see in my head.”

Mr. Graham seemed to fold in on himself a little bit; his gaze unwavering from the window. Hannibal took in a slow, steady breath, worried that if he breathed too loudly, it would break the sudden opening that Mr. Graham had revealed to him. “May I ask what these nightmares are about?”

The opening immediately slammed shut. Mr. Graham’s head whipped back to face him with an intense and guarded look. “No, you may not, Doctor Lecter. Like you stated before, I’m not your patient, and you are not my doctor.”

Hannibal nodded slowly, inwardly chastising himself for being too greedy, trying to leap at something without thinking. “Yes, only friends.”

“Mmmhmm.” Will hummed softly, glancing off to the side when it had become quiet again. After a moment, he let his eyes trail back to Hannibal with a sigh. “So, I suppose if we are going to be friends, you should call me Will.”

Hannibal was quiet, a warm sensation in his stomach bubbled up, and he took it for a feeling of triumph, a small victory, and nothing more before he nodded. “And you should call me Hannibal.”

Then, Mr. Graham licked his lips, opening his mouth to take in a small breath before breathing out the name that only those closest to him called him. He could hear her voice saying his name, still after all these years, but when Mr. Graham’s deeper voice played over hers Hannibal felt a dull ache in his chest, and he did his best to keep the smile on his lips.

_Hannibal_

“Thank you for helping me out today. Hannibal.”

Hannibal sucked in a soft puff of breath through his mouth, making sure his voice wasn’t pulled tight as he breathed out his reply. “But of course, Will.”

  
  


_Oh, Hannibal. I miss him. I miss my little Will._

**Author's Note:**

> Chouchou - Cabbage ( A term of endearment in french for a pet)
> 
> Merde - Shit


End file.
